


When There Are No Words

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, M/M, post Season 8 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of angels Castiel won't speak, and Dean is more than worried. (Day 1 of the 30 Day OTP Challenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When There Are No Words

Castiel didn’t speak. He sat on the bed in his new room, eyes staring into nothing, glazed over with grief. He wouldn’t even eat at first, his new human needs succumbing to depression, but on the third day the biting hunger won out after Dean left a burger in the room. He refused to speak, though. And Dean sometimes wondered if he even listened, because no matter what he said or how hard he begged or  _(on one occasion)_  how loud he shouted, Cas no more than blinked in his presence.

On the seventh day, Dean walked in with same hope to the same disappointment. The only change was how much worse Cas looked. And Dean was out of words, out of ideas. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to just let Cas deteriorate, couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him. So he set the plate of eggs before the angel statue and sat down, pulling the chair closer and leaning forward onto the bed. An hour later the eggs were cold and Dean was broken. He covered his face with his hands, clenching his fists and yelling the name to the ground.  **CAS**. He yelled the name to the man.  _ **CAS.**  _He reached out and desperately took one of the hands, choking out the name.  ** _Cas-_**

Dean dropped his head in silent defeat.

The blue eyes didn’t falter and the lips didn’t budge…  _b_ _ut the fingers-_

They did little more than tremble at first, but slowly, hesitantly, they moved, sliding into Dean’s worn, scarred hand and tightening as if they were holding on for dear life  _(and perhaps they were)_. Dean held the shaking hand with both of his own, stroking it with his thumb as he frantically searched the blue eyes for signs of life. Castiel blinked once, twice, his eyes still far and unfocused, but the pupils slightly dilated. Then he seemed to take a slightly longer, slightly deeper breath, and when he let it out, it was joined with a sound that was deep and broken and desperate:

**“ _Hello, Dean.”_**


End file.
